Archive for January, 2009
A video interesting in a few ways.
First historically of course, then because we will almost certainly hear a more or less similar speech in about a week, and third as times of today might turn out to be rather similar too.
A great viral advertising idea. For every 10 (virtual) friends you defriend at Facebook you get a free Whopper from Burger King (U.S. Residents only).
Finally someone is putting a price tag to virtual friendship (1/10 of a burger – xxx calories, xxx USD) and a way to bring all these SEO spammers to a better use. So far more than 12,000 friends have been un-friended.
Interestingly they have chosen Facebook and not, for example, MySpace. Maybe because they want to sell some Burgers as well.
Internationally celebrated British guitarist Julian Bream plays Johann Sebastian Bach’s Sonata No. 1 for violin (G minor, BWV 1001), second movement Fuga (Allegro) on the guitar.
A short documentary on Bartitsu, a self defense system created by E.W. Barton-Wright in 1899 by combining Asian and European defense techniques including jujitsu, boxing, french (kick)-boxing, stick fighting and improvised fighting for example by using your overcoat to defend yourself. It was so popular in the UK at the beginning of the 20. century that Arthur Conan Doyle had his best know character, Sherlock Holmes, practicing Bartitsu in one of his books.
The video “Running with the Beast” for the band zZz is interesting in two ways.
First there is of course the music and then the project shown “…about two artist who have created the conditions to capture rage in a systematic way…” by letting two colored cocks print their fight on a sheet of paper.
One of W.H. Auden best known poems “Funeral Blues” in its second (shorter) and changed version. We are still searching for the original version with five stanzas which Auden wrote together with Christopher Isherwood in 1936.
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
Wystan Hugh Auden, 1907 – 1973, Funeral Blues